Спрут: Каліфорнійська історія

           Byimperceptibledegrees,asVanameewaitedundertheshadowsofthepeartrees,theAnswergrewnearerandnearer.Hesawnothingbutthedistantglimmeroftheflowers.Heheardnothingbutthedripofthefountain.Nothingmovedabouthimbuttheinvisible,slow-passingbreathsofperfume;yethefelttheapproachoftheVision.

           ItcamefirsttoaboutthemiddleoftheSeedranchitself,somehalfamileaway,wherethevioletsgrew;shrinking,timidflowers,hidingclosetotheground.Thenitpassedforwardbeyondtheviolets,anddrewnearerandstoodamidthemignonette,hardierbloomsthatdaredlookheavenwardfromouttheleaves.Afewnightslateritleftthemignonettebehind,andadvancedintothebedsofwhiteiristhatpushedmoreboldlyforthfromtheearth,theirwaxenpetalsclaimingtheattention.Itadvancedthenalongstepintotheproud,challengingbeautyofthecarnationsandroses;andatlast,aftermanynights,Vanameefeltthatitpaused,asiftremblingatitshardihood,fullinthesuperbgloryoftheroyalliliesthemselves,thatgrewontheextremeborderoftheSeedranchnearesttohim.Afterthis,therewasacertainlongwait.Then,uponadarkmidnight,itadvancedagain.Vanameecouldscarcelyrepressacry.Now,theillusionemergedfromtheflowers.Itstood,notdistant,butunseen,almostatthebaseofthehilluponwhosecresthewaited,inadepressionofthegroundwheretheshadowslaythickest.Itwasnearlywithinearshot.

           Thenightspassed.Thespringgrewwarmer.Inthedaytimeintermittentrainsfreshenedalltheearth.TheflowersoftheSeedranchgrewrapidly.